


should have said (say it)

by theundiagnosable



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, M/M, alt title: mom friend zach and barefoot contessa willy save romance, but also some of them are still hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: “Okay,” Zach says, slow. “You said- no food, isn’t the wedding in-”“Five days,” Auston finishes, “yeah.” He sounds even more calm than usual, a little monotone, actually, which is how Zach knows he’s internally losing his shit.





	should have said (say it)

**Author's Note:**

> based on this headline: https://www.thestar.com/life/food_wine/2017/09/30/how-torontos-chefs-came-together-to-save-a-wedding.html  
> no one @ me this is the most pointless fluff i've ever written

Zach’s just finished ordering the next three months’ worth of seasonal greens from his produce guy when his phone rings and pierces the first quiet he’s had all day. He’s prepared for the worst – if the convection oven set off the fire alarm again, he’s writing the repair guys the most _scathing_ review on Yelp, he swears to god – only he looks at the caller ID and is pleasantly surprised.

“Matty,” he says, accepting the call and sitting back in his chair, relieved. “Didn’t expect to hear from you ‘til the wedding, what’s up?”

“Hey, man,” Auston says. “That’s actually what I’m calling about. The wedding, I mean.”

“Just picked up my tie,” Zach says. “Ready to get my groomsman on-”

“The caterers cancelled,” Auston interrupts, matter-of-fact, and then someone else is talking, muffled like they’re across the room.

“They didn’t _cancel_ ,” the new voice says – it’s Mitch, is the first thing that Zach realizes, and the second is that he’s pissed. That alone is enough to catch his attention, because he’s never seen Mitch anything worse than mildly bummed. “They stopped responding to all our emails, and then they blocked my number like a bunch of dirty rotten asshole _cowards_ -” 

“Mitch,” Auston says, and Mitch makes this scornful sound.

“They are, Aus, and you know it,” Mitch says, stubborn. Zach gets the impression this isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion. There’s another muffled sound from the other end of the line, and Auston says something that Zach can’t make out, then Mitch sighs. “Sorry, Zach.”

“You’re fine,” Zach says, kind of reeling. “So, hold on, you guys-” 

“Just me,” Auston says. “Mitchy left to go shoot pucks at the basement wall, I think.”

“Okay,” Zach says, slow. “But you said- no food, isn’t the wedding in-”

“Five days,” Auston finishes, “yeah.” He sounds even more calm than usual, a little monotone, actually, which is how Zach knows he’s internally losing his shit. Which- yeah, Zach can see why. The guy singlehandedly revolutionized the Toronto culinary scene, everyone who’s ever been in a restaurant has been speculating about the menu at Auston Matthews’ wedding for _months_ , since the engagement, probably, and now they don’t even have one.

“He thinks it’s ‘cause of him,” Auston says, steady. “That they don’t want all the press, with the gay hockey player thing. Some people’ve been pretty shitty, around the league.”

“Is it?” Zach asks. “Because of him?”

“I don’t know,” Auston says, after a second. He sounds tired, and Zach’s never really envied the public parts of his and Mitch’s jobs – restaurant management is largely behind the scenes, and Zach likes it that way – but now he downright feels bad for him. “Maybe they’re just bad caterers.”

Zach hopes they’re just bad caterers.

“Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry, man.” 

Auston does this little sound that Zach thinks might be the phone equivalent of a shrug, and there’re a couple seconds of quiet. Zach’s phone buzzes a couple of times, but he doesn’t check his texts.

 “What’re you guys going to do?” he asks, eventually.

“Right,” Auston says, “that’s actually why I was calling you.” Zach waits, confused, and Auston sighs. “You’ve worked with, like, every decent chef in the province. Event planning is your thing.”

“Hold on,” Zach says, slow. “You’re not asking-”

“I know it’s a lot,” Auston interrupts. “I’d find someone, you know I would, but my family’s flying in tonight, and we already delayed so Mitch’s granddad could be here, all we need is someone to coordinate the menu, and the cake, and we’d obviously pay you-”

“Oh no,” Zach says , because he sees where this is going, and he’s got the actress from one of the NCIS shows buying out his entire place for her rehearsal dinner in a week and a half, and he absolutely can’t. “No, Auston, I- you know I’d do anything to help you guys, but I can’t put together the kind of dinner you need with this notice. Especially not- your guests are, like, half the NHL-”

“They’re hockey players, most of them live on pasta and unseasoned chicken breasts-”

“-and every food critic in the country,” Zach finishes, and even Auston doesn’t have an argument for that one, just kind of sighs.

“I know it’s too much to ask,” he says, quiet. “I’m just. I don’t know what to do, Zachy.”

And _that_ -  Zach forgets how young Auston is, sometimes, with the whole ‘saviour of the food world’ thing, but right now he sounds like he did when he was eighteen and Zach found him sitting on the floor in the bathroom, pretending not to be freaking out before giving a speech at this gala. And he’s come far since then – they both have – but he’s still the freakishly talented kid with more fame than he knows what to do with, like an adopted, less annoying little brother.

Or maybe Zach’s still just the kind of fucking softie who sits in a public bathroom to talk a stranger down from a panic attack for half an hour. He doesn’t know. It’s one of those options, definitely, because he squeezes his eyes shut and says, already regretting this entire thing, “Fuck. This is the worst idea, I don’t- how many guests?” 

“One forty-seven,” Auston says, without hesitating. “Does this mean-”

“No,” Zach says, then sighs. “Maybe, but-” Auston’s already thanking him, but Zach cuts him off. “No, listen, it’s not going to be cohesive. I’m going to have to outsource stuff, with this notice.”

“But you’re going to do it?”

 “I- fine. God.” Zach says. “Don’t get excited, you guys better name literally all of your future children after me. First _and_ middle names.”

“Zach Zach Marner-Matthews,” Auston tries out, and he sounds like he’s smiling. “And her little brother, Zach Zach Marner-Matthews Junior. I like it.”

Zach rolls his eyes, grinning in spite of himself. “Does Mitch know he’s marrying literally the least funny person in the world?”

“He’s going to be so relieved,” Auston says, and Zach can’t really even regret agreeing to help, now, because Auston’s _voice_ , all in love and happy and dumb. If anyone deserves to be excited about their wedding, it’s him and Mitch. “Really, Zach, you’re- you don’t even know how much this means, _thank you_ , man.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Zach says, tired. “Don’t thank me yet, I might just order you a pizza.” And it’s a joke, but like- maybe.

He doesn’t bother getting up from his desk, even after Auston hangs up to go make sure Mitch doesn’t break their basement. He’s going to be here for a while.

\---

Just for the record, Zach is really, really good at what he does.

Like, sure, it helps that he’s got the combined salaries of a pro athlete and his bestselling author-fiancé to work with, but also- he’s _good_. It takes most of the night ‘til almost noon, and he has to call in a million favours, but he manages to actually get something resembling a menu together, and it’s even mostly gourmet, which is an achievement and a half, if Zach does say so himself.

He ends up convincing Andersen and his guys to do hors d’oeuvres, and Kadri and Komarov from just outside of town agree readily enough once they hear it’s for Auston Matthews – and, fine, Auston and Mitch most likely were not planning on having Estonian-Lebanese fusion entrées, but whatever, at least there’ll be something on the table.

There’s a knock at the door, and it swings open before Zach can answer.

Brownie pokes his head in. “I know you said to handle stuff today, but the convection oven-”

“ _No_ ,” Zach says, “not again, oh my-”

“Kidding,” Connor cuts in, and Zach throws a pencil at him half-heartedly. Everyone he works with is terrible, honestly. Including the convection oven. “How’s Operation Save Romance going?”

“Honestly?” Zach shrugs, kind of proud. “Could be a lot worse, actually.”

“Nice.” Brownie picks up the pencil, heads over and perches on the corner of Zach’s desk. “You figured out the theme, then?”

“We’re centering the menu around local ingredients,” Zach says, in his ‘impressing the overdressed critic who asked to meet the manager’ voice. He slides the handwritten menu – draft number fourteen – towards Brownie. “Going for a rustic, rich palate with some multicultural twists to acknowledge Auston’s love of global cuisine.”

“You didn’t have time to order real food,” Connor translates, and Zach goes to pull his notepad back, but Brownie holds onto it. “I’m bullshitting, it sounds good.”

Zach exhales, talking mostly to himself. “So that’s the main stuff, and I’m waiting for Mo to call me back about the dessert, but peaches are in season so it should be fine, and other than that, I think we’re good.” And he is, really good, and he may actually be able to head out ahead of dinner and do the rounds, make sure everything is functional, except-

Brownie’s looking at the menu, kind of frowning.  “Um.” 

Now Zach frowns. He’s running on an hour and a half of sleep, but he’s been working with Brownie for years. He _knows_ that ‘um’. “What ‘um’?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Brownie says, but he’s still staring at the menu.

“What?” Zach demands, stomach sinking as he starts mentally running over his checklist. He’s got the appetizers, he’s got the main course, he even called the venue to confirm the open bar is still a thing. “Don’t say ‘um’, why ‘um’?”

“No, it looks good,” Connor says, reassuring. “Just- you probably just forgot to write it, but I don’t see-”

 _Appetizers, main course, dessert_ -

“Oh, shit,” Zach says, with this awful, dawning sense of horror. “Shit, the cake.”

 “You didn’t forget to find a wedding cake,” Brownie says, but Zach just stares, so he kind of blinks. “You... dude, you forgot to find a _wedding cake_?”

“I forgot to find a wedding cake,” Zach confirms, and this is it, he’s got to hand in his ‘got his shit together’ credentials – not that he has any, but if they were a thing, he definitely would – because how is this even possible, of all the things to overlook, the actual _cake_ -

“Right,” Connor says. “Just to clarify, this is the cake that has to be ready for this Saturday?”

Zach nods, kind of numb. “Uh huh.”

“The cake that’s supposed to be at the venue early to be professionally shot for the cover of _bake_ magazine?” 

“Yes,” Zach says. “That would be the cake I forgot, yes.”

“Oh,” Brownie says. “That’s bad.” 

Zach face-plants onto his desk. 

Connor pats his head. “I’ll start googling, you start calling?”

“Mmph,” Zach says, without lifting his head.

Coffee. He needs coffee.

\---

“How is this possible?” Zach demands, four hours and three cups of coffee later. “How is every vaguely qualified baker in the province unavailable, how is this even _possible_?”

“We’re asking for a custom job on short notice,” Connor says, from where he’s been camped out on the floor since they started calling caterers out past St. Jacob’s. He’s still on hold with the last lady to win Master Chef. “Most of them book months in advance.”

“Five days isn’t _that_ short notice,” Zach bitches, which is an utter lie, and Brownie isn’t even considerate enough to pretend that it isn’t.

 “Four days, technically,” Connor says, then glances at his watch. “Three and a half.”

“Oh god,” Zach says, rubbing his temples. He’s got fifteen missed calls, one of them from Auston, probably checking up on his nonexistent cake. “They’re not going to have a wedding cake. Oh _god_.” 

“Don’t panic,” Brownie says, which is easy for him to say, here. “You could just ask-”

“No,” Zach says, firm.

 “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I do,” Zach says, because he does, because it’s the obvious answer, first page of Google obvious, but- like, _no_. “And the answer is no. Other ideas, please.”

Brownie rolls his eyes, but goes back to humming along with the hold music.

Zach will never, _never_ be desperate enough. He’ll bake the cake himself, before he’s desperate enough for _that_.

\---

It takes three more caterers laughing them off the phone, forty minutes of Brownie’s patented reproachful look, and a call from the kitchen to let them know that the convection oven really _is_ broken again for Zach to decide he’s desperate enough.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine, I hate you, I hate this. But fine.”

“Thank you,” Brownie says, shutting the laptop with great relish and stretching out his legs. “Doesn’t it feel good, not being stubborn?”

“No,” Zach says, getting up from his seat, because if he’s going to do this – ugh, he just threw up in his mouth a little – he’s going to do it now, before he can chicken out. “This is going to go awfully.”

“Maybe it’ll all work out,” Connor says. “Maybe your friends will have the nicest cake in the world. Maybe it’ll be nice to see each other again.”

“Maybe,” Zach says darkly, and he’d slam the door on his way out, but that’d be unprofessional, so he contents himself with shooting Brownie the dirtiest look he can manage.

Brownie just waves, cheery. Zach needs new friends.

\---

The fact that William Nylander even has a storefront is the biggest and most wholly unnecessary joke Zach’s ever heard. Like, the guy has his own TV show, Zach knows for a _fact_ that he doesn’t need to be selling cupcakes by the half-dozen from this grossly adorable little nook in Yorkville, with this stupid pink sign that says ‘Willy’s’ in all lowercase letters, but he is, and it’s, like, the overly stylized, ludicrously high rent equivalent of vanity plates or a yacht or thousand-dollar running shoes.

It takes Zach a couple minutes to psych himself up enough to walk in, and he’s barely over the threshold before someone’s shoving a waiver in his face.

“We’re filming today,” the harried-looking PA says, like reading off a script. “We’re asking all customers to sign a release consenting to appear on the show or in-”

“Right,” Zach says, taking the proffered pen and giving the form a quick once-over before scrawling his name. “Listen, I need to talk to Willy.” He hesitates, suddenly unsure. “William. The owner.”

“Join the club,” the girl says, dry, and nods over at the crowd of people lined up by the counter, instagramming and craning their necks to try to see into the kitchen. One of them’s wearing a shirt that has Willy’s face on it, which seems excessive, a little. Like- he bakes. Big deal.

“I know him, though,” Zach says, and it’s mostly the truth. Waiver girl doesn’t look impressed.

“Again, sir, join the-”

“-club, right.” Zach bites his lip, frustrated. “Can you just- tell him it’s Zach. Hyman. From school. Please.”

“Zach Hyman from school,” the girl echoes, skeptical. Zach tries his best ‘I’m not a stalker’ smile, and it must work, because she sighs and heads behind the counter, disappearing into the kitchen. Which is great and all, except for how it means Zach’s left standing there to question what the fuck he’s doing here, and why he ever thought this was a good idea, and- ‘Zach Hyman from school’, like, he’s assuming Willy’s even going to remember, which Zach would _not_ put money on-

“Mr. Hyman?” He looks up, startled out of his thoughts, and the production assistant from before is leaning over the counter. “You can come on back.”

Zach steels himself and follows her in. Only a couple of people in the line give him dirty looks, like he’s cutting in front of them.

“Are we-”

The girl puts a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be quiet. As the enter the kitchen, Zach sees why – there’s a TV crew, cameras and lights and all, fanned out around one of the stainless steel counters, and he has to stand on his toes to see over all the bulk and catch sight of Willy. He’s behind the counter, fingers stained red, holding a cut-up strawberry up to the camera.

“...and you’re going to want to make sure they’re all cut nice and evenly, because there is nothing, _nothing_ worse than malformed strawberry roses-” He flicks his hair out of his eyes, smiles at the camera all sincere. “Except for not trying at all,” he finishes, and it’s so cheesy, not the kind of thing that should sound good, except it does. “So go to the farmers’ market, give it a shot.”

He holds the smile for a couple of seconds, and Zach should probably stop staring, now.

“We got it?” Willy asks, and one of the guys behind the camera flashes him a thumbs up. Willy holds out his hand for a high five. “Awesome.” He glances over the camera guy’s shoulder, meets Zach’s eyes and beckons him over, easy. “Give me a minute, guys?” 

Zach straightens up without really meaning to, watches the crew back up, like, five feet. It’s not really enough to give the illusion of privacy, but- thought that counts, maybe.  

Willy stays on his side of the counter, watching as Zach approaches. He’s got this look on his face, all appraising. Teasing, maybe. “Zach Hyman from school.”

And Zach knew what he wanted to say, he _practiced_ , but Willy’s just standing there, looking how he does like it’s anything close to fair, so all that comes out is, “You should be wearing a hair net, if you’re handling food.” He visibly winces, at that – _a hair net, Hyman, really?_ – but Willy just grins and goes back to cutting strawberries.

“You’re still so uptight,” he laughs, kind of impressed. Asshole. “That can’t be good for your blood pressure, can it?”

“My blood pressure’s fine,” Zach says, trying to hold onto whatever, like, two and a half grams of his dignity remain. “I actually need a favour.”

“A favour,” Willy repeats, and Zach hates him, actually hates his guts and his hair and his stupid flirty smile, suggestive without even saying anything.

He’s fine. It’s fine.

“Not like that,” he says, not bothering with any kind of pleasantries. “I need you to bake a cake.”

“Nice, I’m great at those!” Willy says, and tilts his cutting board towards Zach like it hasn’t been literally five years. “Strawberry?”

Zach ignores that. “My friends’re getting married on Saturday,” he says. “Caterers ghosted them, they’re willing to pay whatever for a decent cake.”

“’Me on a rush order’, whatever?” Willy asks, all skeptical, like just because he did cupcakes for TIFF and for when the prime minister came he’s top shit.

“It’s Auston Matthews and his fiancé,” Zach says, and Will’s eyebrows fly up, because everyone who’s ever been near a Michelin star knows what a positive review from Auston Matthews does for someone’s career; and everyone living within a hundred miles of an ice rink knows about the Leafs player that came out last year.

“Shit, _the_ Matthews? With- his boyfriend’s the hockey player?” Zach nods, and Willy whistles, appreciative. “You actually have cool friends, Hymie. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t call me Hymie,” Zach says, flat. “Like, _ever_ , just- Look, I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. They’re good guys. Are you going to help them or not?”

Willy looks at him, thoughtful. “They’ve still got to pay for the rush order.”

“I figured,” Zach says. “Anything else?”

“I’m filming it for the show. And I want a quote from Auston Matthews about how great my stuff is, for my cameras.”

“Fine,” Zach says, because that’s altogether more decent than he was expecting, except Willy’s not done.

“Also Leafs tickets. On the glass.”

“You are so lacking in moral fibre,” Zach says. “It’s really astounding.”

“I get tons of fibre,” Willy retorts, popping a strawberry into his mouth and waving the camera guys back over. “Ancient grains. _Bran_.”  

“I’ll e-mail you where to bring the cake,” Zach says instead of dignifying that with a response, and then, with great effort, “Thank you.”

Willy winks at him, and Zach has this weird sense of being back in first year culinary arts, with a too-big apron and a bad haircut. The camera crew is a new development. “You got it, Hymie.”

“Don’t-” Zach starts, then cuts himself off, takes a breath. Ignores the boom mic being dangled in front of his face. “Have a good night.” He’s imagining it, probably, the way Willy looks almost disappointed.  

Except-

“Hey,” Willy calls after him, then, when Zach looks back, he gives this crooked grin. “You look good.” 

What a _tool._

\---

It’s not even a good story, is the thing. Like- they hooked up exactly seven times, and then they didn’t talk about it, and then they didn’t talk at all.

They weren’t even friends. Got paired up on a couple projects, did really well on them, too, which was weird, because they couldn’t be more different. Zach was the local kid doing a joint degree in business management. Willy was instagram-famous and obnoxiously gorgeous and the kind of person who shouldn’t have even looked at Zach, normally, until he did, and-

It was decent sex. Arguably better than decent, except for the fact that the Monday after time number seven, Willy acted like it never happened.

Zach still doesn’t have the greatest haircut. William Nylander’s still obnoxiously beautiful. 

Zach is very much over it.

\---

And then Willy shows up at his apartment.

It’s unfairly early, and Zach’s barely dressed, only one sock on, and he’s expecting- fuck, he doesn’t know, girl scouts or  something, except he opens the door and finds himself face-to-face with Willy and a literal television crew.  

The guy with the boom mic waves at him.

“Morning, Hymie!” Willy says, chipper, and waltzes in past Zach without even waiting for a ‘hello’.  “Nice place.” He spins in place, looking around while Zach just kind of stands in the doorway, stunned. “Marble countertops!” He puts a hand to his heart, wheeling around. “We _have_ to.”

“Got it,” the one camera guy says, all resigned, like William Nylander losing his shit over marble countertops is a regular occurrence. “’scuse us.” He squeezes past Zach, and the rest of the crew follows, and by the time Zach’s recovered enough to shut his door and march back inside, Willy’s sitting on one of the stools in his kitchen, swinging his feet and watching his crew set up lights or satellite dishes or whatever the fuck those giant discs are. 

He looks at Zach, kind of judgey, as he approaches. “You’re probably going to want to put another sock on,” Willy says, then looks at Zach’s bare foot and frowns. “When did you last get a pedicure, man?”

Zach opens his mouth, ready to give Willy a piece of his mind. Then, because literally wordlessly screaming would probably not be appreciated by his neighbours, he shuts it and forces himself to take a breath. His apartment got taken over by his kind of ex and half the Food Network. It’s fine. “Why are you at my home?” 

Willy shrugs. “I figured we could do the consult here, set up some background. Then Locations got us into closed Leafs practice this afternoon so we can interview the other groom, what’s his name-”

Zach stares, but Willy’s apparently waiting for an answer. It’s all very surreal. “Mitch?”   

Willy does finger guns. “Mitch, right. Hockey player.”

“Right,” Zach says, slow. “That’s- Mitch definitely plays hockey, yes. Why is there a camera crew in my apartment?”

“You’re the one who asked me to bake the cake,” Willy says. “It’d be pretty incongruous if you just disappeared from the rest of the episode.” He shoots Zach the same smile that he gave to the camera yesterday, winning. He’s used to getting what he wants with that smile, Zach knows.

“Don’t use SAT words to make me agree to this,” Zach says, flat, because he stopped falling for William Nylander’s shit a long time ago. “You can’t just-”

“Hymie,” Willy interrupts, and Zach makes a face at the nickname. “I can’t make a cake without knowing who it’s for.” He says it like it’s obvious, like any of this is anything close to logical. “Wedding cakes are personal. Not to mention you need to tell me the rest of the menu so I can make sure the flavour doesn’t, like, completely clash.”

“I-” Zach starts then stops, because he has a point.

“Dessert is an art form,” Willy says, encouraged by the hesitation. “You know it’s true. You want your friends to have the best cake possible, right?”  

 Zach stares at him, eyes narrowed. Willy stares back, all guileless, and then Zach has to drop his gaze, because his eyes are all blue and pretty and very much not the point, here.

“I hate this,” Zach says, petulant, but then, “I need to call into work and get someone to handle things if I’m not going to be there.”

Willy shoots him a thumbs up, and it’s not a game, but Zach thinks he might be losing.

\---

Worst part is, Willy’s not even awful to talk to.

And, okay- He’s a grown man who voluntarily goes by ‘Willy’, so Zach shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that he’s making himself so comfortable, but he is, a little, anyways, at how Willy sits there in Zach’s kitchen like he belongs there, talks all candidly as though they aren’t being recorded.

Zach still hates his guts. At least 95% of his guts. That’s part of the reason why he feels so off-balance when they’re sitting there doing the interview-slash-brainstorming session, because he’s expecting dumb jokes and probably at least one ‘that’s what she said’, but it never comes. What _does_ come is Willy asking Zach a bunch of questions about Mitch and Auston, what they’re like, what kind of menu they’re thinking for the wedding. He even offers a couple of suggestions – swapping the order of the appetizers to lead into the main course better – that aren’t terrible.

It would almost be like dealing with a legitimate professional, except that it’s Willy, so he steals Zach’s tablet and finds a Youtube playlist called ‘Marnthews Moments’ and presses play before Zach can stop him. It’s weird for Zach, like, as their friend, but most of the clips are pretty innocuous, Auston with his arm around Mitch’s shoulders at events, guest appearances on shows. Things like that. Still bizarre to watch, a little, but Willy’s leaning in close, watching the videos all intent, shoulder pressed up against Zach’s so that he’s startled when the director claps her hands.

He forgot the cameras were even on.

“Alright,” the director says. “I think we’ve got what we need, we’re going to do lunch then head over to get the feature on the groom in maybe twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Willy says without missing a beat, while Zach shakes his head, small, trying to come back to earth.

Willy doesn’t go for lunch with the rest of his TV crew. Zach feels like he should’ve expected that, a little, busies himself pouring them drinks and wondering how long he has to small talk before he can escape to the bathroom. 

He’s still standing by the fridge when Willy pipes up, conversational, “You’re doing really well, huh?”   

“Sure,” Zach agrees, only a little sarcastic. “Yeah, my movie deal is coming in any day now.” He slides one of the glasses across the counter to Willy.

“Thanks,” Willy says. “And I didn’t mean the TV thing, I mean, like. In general. Career-wise.”  

Zach shrugs, kind of uncomfortable with the praise. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Dude, I googled you, your places are on every must try list in the city. In the _province_.”

Zach kind of stares at him, for that one, because- it’s not wrong, but it’s also not really anything, compared to a literal Emmy-nominated cooking show, and he knows that, so Willy must too. He can’t tell if he’s getting made fun of. “C’mon.”

“I’m serious,” Willy says, then: “Like- ’Hometown Whiz Kid Dazzles Judges’?”

“Oh god,” Zach groans, kind of laughing in spite of himself, rounding the corner so he can sit back down next to Willy, leaving a seat between them like a buffer. “’Whiz Kid’, that was like, last year.”

“That was a national competition, though.”

“It was for charity,” Zach says. “I don’t really do a lot of actual cooking, anymore.”

“You should,” Willy says, all earnest. “You were always awesome, do you remember in French Cuisine, that time with the carrots-”

“-and the peeler broke right before our practical,” Zach says, and he’s smiling at the memory. “I failed that so bad.”

“You got a _seventy_ ,” Willy argues, grinning all wide. “The point of the story is that you’re stupid-talented, c’mon.”

Zach scoffs, but he’s smiling too in spite of himself, and all at once he’s taken aback by- he doesn’t even know what this is, sitting here talking to Willy like they’re friends, like they’re people who even talk, let alone give compliments. It’s this weird, loaded moment, and then the next video in the Auston-and-Mitch playlist autoplays and they both jump.

It’s this dumb clip on the NHLPA Youtube channel of Mitch trying to teach Auston how to skate. Zach and Willy both stare down at the screen, a little too deliberately, and it’s awkward until video-Auston slips and falls on his ass and they both laugh, breaking the tension at least a little.

“They’re cute,” Willy says, then winces. “Don’t tell Auston Matthews I said his boyfriend is cute.”

“I’m absolutely telling him that,” Zach deadpans. “Maybe also his boyfriend’s team full of giant dudes that skate around beating guys up for a living, too-”

“Shut up,” Willy laughs, and Zach’s a little proud. Whatever. Willy kicks at his foot under the counter. “D’you have one of those?”

“Do I have a hockey team?” Zach asks, impressively normal, considering the way his heart skips a beat. This is a dangerous conversation.

“No, I meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Zach cuts him off, steadier than he feels. “I was being facetious.”  

“’Facetious’ is a really fancy way of saying ‘an asshole’, huh?” Willy says, but he does this smile like he’s joking with Zach, not at him, and Zach can’t help but soften, just a little. “So?”   

Zach shakes his head, takes a drink and hopes it comes across as casual. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend.”   

 “A girlfriend?”

“No romantic partner of any gender,” Zach says, only a little awkward. “Thank you for the weirdly specific questions, though.”

“Thank you for the weirdly specific answers,” Willy answers without missing a beat, and Zach makes the mistake of catching his eye, and there’s this moment of eye contact, charged. Willy opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Zach coughs, drops his gaze and pushes his chair back. He grabs Willy’s glass without asking if he’s done, carries them over to the sink. 

“We should get ready to go,” he says, back turned. “Practice place is out of the city, there’ll be traffic.”

“Awesome,” Willy says, half a second too late. He doesn’t say anything else.

He’s waiting for Zach to ask if he’s seeing anyone. It’s obvious.

Zach doesn’t let himself ask. It’s not an answer that he wants.

\---

There’re a bunch of reporters milling around outside the Leafs’ practice, even though once security lets Zach and all of Willy’s guys in, it just looks like a bunch of hockey players passing a puck between some pylons. Not that different from Zach’s practices in peewee, actually, except for the six-foot-something dudes and the fact that he’s standing by the bench trying too hard to not meet Willy’s eyes.

One of Mitch’s teammates skates in to grab his water bottle, eyes the cameras before hollering across the ice, “Mitchy, they’re here for your closeup.”

It takes a second, but Mitch barrels over and attack-hugs the guy, laughing. “Shut the fuck up, Marty, I’m kicking you out of the wedding party.” He ducks a whack from Marty’s stick, holds out his gloved hand for a fist bump. “Hey, Zachy.”

“Hey, man,” Zach says, then nudges Willy forward. “This is William Nylander. He’s doing the cake.” 

 “Oh my god.” Mitch leans right over the boards and hugs Willy, big enough in his skates and gear to almost lift him off his feet. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re saving our lives, Aus was going to have a heart attack about, like, fondant-”

“What a way to go, though,” Willy quips, fixing his hair, and Zach snickers before he can stop himself. He very determinedly doesn’t let himself notice the look that Willy gives him for that, all fond.

“Hey,” another of the Leafs skates over, leans on the boards. “You’re Nylander? My mom loves your show, could you sign something for her?”

“I’d love to,” Willy says, cheery, and the Leafs’ coach is shooting them dirty looks, but he takes his time, has one of his crew produce this glossy photo to autograph. And Zach wants so bad to hate him –who carries around HQ six-by-eight headshots of themselves, like, really – but Will takes his time, writes out a personalized message and asks the mom’s name and everything, and it’s just. He cares about this, very obviously, and it throws Zach off, because he didn’t think caring about stuff was a thing Willy was capable of.

He still doesn’t, really. It’s one nice thing. Doesn’t erase everything else.

They end up sitting up in the stands, waiting for practice to finish and the players to get cleaned up so they can do the interview. Willy keeps on cracking jokes, and Zach keeps on coming close to laughing, so it’s kind of a relief when Mitch comes jogging towards them, hair still damp from his shower, looking much more Mitch-sized in a Leafs hoodie and sweats. 

“Hey,” Zach says to Willy, quiet, before Mitch gets there. “He’s not the greatest at interviews, so just-”

Willy kind of snorts, dismissive. “I know how to get people to talk on camera.”

Zach kind of wants to punch him, for that, but it’s also strangely rewarding to know that he was right, Willy’s still an arrogant asshole. Like- yep, still got it.

“I know you know that,” Zach says, patient. “I’m just saying it might be helpful-”

“Hymie,” Willy says. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, you don’t tell me how to do mine, okay?”

Zach just shrugs, sits back in his seat and watches the two of them get set up. Mitch is all chatty, as usual, asking a bunch of questions and saying hi to everyone in the crew and generally being his grossly sociable self.

And then they turn the cameras on.

“Okay,” Willy says, conversational, angled slightly towards the cameras. “So I wanted your input about the cake, ‘cause the menu’s pretty eclectic so our options are pretty broad, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “For sure.”  

Willy waits, but Mitch doesn’t say anything else. “Right,” Willy says, still smiling, “so I don’t know how much you know about the cake design process, but I always like to have kind of a back and forth with the client, so just. Any suggestions you have, or stuff you really want included...”

“Sure,” Mitch says. “I mean, it’s. It’s a cake.”

“...Right,” Willy says, slow, and makes it about four more questions and non-answers in before he’s looking over his shoulder at Zach, helpless.

Zach smiles, innocent, flashes a thumbs up same as Willy always does. It’s petty, probably, but it’s also _hilarious_ , because Willy interviews chefs and B-listers who want cakes for their kids’ birthday parties, not hockey players, and Mitch is definitely, definitely the latter. And, look, Zach loves the guy, he makes Auston happy and is a genuinely good dude, only-

Mitch is bad on camera. _Really_ bad on camera. Like, Zach’s half expecting him to drop a ‘gotta get pucks deep’, that’s how bad this is going; and it maybe makes him a bad person that he’s enjoying this so much, but watching Willy struggle this bad is too fun for him to really care. He wonders if it would be in poor taste to say ‘told you so’.

He doesn’t do that. He’s not a complete jerk. Instead, he waits a couple more questions then takes pity.

“Hey,” Zach says, leaning in so that he can get Mitch’s attention without getting into the shot. “You should tell him about the time you tried to make a cake for Auston’s birthday.”

“Yeah?” Mitch asks, glancing at the cameras kind of warily.

“Yeah, dude,” Zach says, encouraging. He can feel Willy watching him. “C’mon, you tried- what was it, black forest-”

Mitch is shaking his head, already smiling at the memory. “Nah, man, it was gonna be a bundt cake, like in _My Big Fat Greek Wedding_ , ‘cause Aus loves that movie. Except it turns out that you’re supposed to buy, like, a special kind of pan or whatever?”

“You didn’t buy the bundt pan?” Zach says.

“Dude, I’m not gonna spend money on a dumb pan when I can just, like, scoop out the middle of the cake,” Mitch says, like he’s not a literal millionaire. It gets Willy to laugh, kind of surprised, and Mitch kind of lights up, and then he’s off, chattering about the cake and Auston’s reaction with barely any prompting. It’s the kind of longwinded story he always tells, but it gets him to mention that they both like chocolate cake best, and that Auston likes cakes without filling inside, and Zach can see Willy’s assistant scribbling down notes, fast.

“-so then Aus got home, which was bad, because it was supposed to be a surprise, but also because the fire department was still there, and I ended up just buying cupcakes from Shoppers.”  

“You bought food from a drug store?” Willy asks, like he’s personally offended, but he’s laughing while Zach shakes his head.

“Only you could get the fire department called twice in one day, man.”

It bounces off Mitch, like most things do. “I mean, I don’t really know about foodie stuff,” he says, and shrugs good-naturedly. “Auston says I have the palate of a seven year old. I mostly just want to be husbands.”

“Aw,” says Zach, except Willy says the same thing at the same time, and then he grins at Zach like they did it on purpose, and Zach can feel his cheeks going red. Mitch is giving him this knowing look –he’s not subtle _at all_ , Zach’s going to kill him – so Zach just coughs, awkward, and drops Willy’s gaze.

“Tell the man what kind of cake you want, Mitchell.”

Mitch makes a face at the ‘Mitchell’ thing, but Willy’s already nodding, all re-energized. “Literally anything you want, even just as inspiration. Like your bundt cake idea, just- themes, colours-”

“I mean,” Mitch looks down at his blue and white hoodie pointedly.

Zach snorts. “You’re not having a Leafs themed cake, Auston’ll kill me.”

Mitch shoves at Zach’s chest, all fake-offended. “Whatever, bud, you’re, like, Canadian Guy Fieri, so-”

“You take that back right now,” Zach orders, and Willy laughs, leaning on Zach’s shoulder so Zach gets a face full of his hair and feels himself go red. Mitch is straight up waggling his eyebrows, now, and Zach would probably give him shit, but Willy’s still close, and it’s just.

It’s nice.

\---

“You’re seriously telling me you never did TV before?”

Zach scoffs, but there’s no bite to it. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

They’re sitting in a coffeeshop, cameras long gone, mostly-empty mugs pushed to the side so there’s room for Willy, sketching out cakes on the back of a napkin with his autograph marker. Zach watches him draw, the way his hand moves, how his brow furrows, all focused.

“Dude, you’re a natural,” Willy says, without looking up from his drawings. “I mean it, you’re so much less awkward than I expected.”

Zach makes a face, can’t quite bring himself to be offended. “Was that supposed to be a compliment? ‘Cause it kind of felt like we were going for a compliment, but-”

“It was definitely a compliment, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Willy kicks Zach under the table, lightly, and Zach kicks him back, and it’s this weird, companionable moment that would be terrifying if it wasn’t so easy. Is a little bit terrifying anyways, maybe _because_ it’s so easy.

Zach stirs at the last bit of his latte, watches Willy draw a little more. “Do you actually do this for every cake you make?”

“Draw them?”

“No, like. The interviews, the visits. The research.” It’s more than Zach was expecting, the amount of work that goes into this. He can kind of see why Willy charges so much. Except then-

“Nah,” Will says, casual. “Usually the assistants do it. I was honestly expecting you to call me out for bullshitting, like, a day and a half ago?”  

Zach gapes at him. “I took the day off work!”

“That wasn’t just for me,” Willy says, and doesn’t even attempt to look sorry. “Also, you needed it, Hymie.”

“Don’t call me Hymie,” Zach says, automatic. “Why would you even-”

Willy shrugs. “Wanted an excuse to hang out with you, I guess.” 

Whatever retort Zach was going to shoot back gets lost, then, because- he can’t just _say_ something like that, like it’s something that people say, like it doesn’t make Zach want to hide or run away or lean across the table and kiss his stupid face.

It feels like flirting. Zach wishes he hated it more.

Willy flicks at Zach’s mug, grinning up at him like he’s reading his mind. “Admit it, you had fun.”

“You’re shameless,” Zach says, getting to his feet and digging in his pocket for his wallet, pretending like he’s not trying to hide a smile. “Really, I mean that, William.” 

“ _William_ ,” Willy scoffs, all affectionate, and he watches Zach put down enough money to cover the bill before shrugging into his jacket. It’s a lot, the weight of his gaze, just then. Watching Zach all intently, like- anticipating.  

“I’ll- see you before the wedding, I guess,” Zach says, and whatever anticipation there was disappears. _Good_ , Zach thinks, and pretends like he’s not lying. “If you need help getting to the venue-”

 “Come by the store tomorrow morning?” Willy asks, and it’s kind of a blurt, but Zach stops in his tracks anyways. Willy can maybe see him about to come up with some excuse, because he puts a hand on Zach’s arm. “Say yes.”

“I have stuff to do,” Zach hedges, but doesn’t pull back.  

“Say yes,” Willy says. Asks. He’s holding Zach’s gaze, sincere as anything.  

This is the worst idea in the world. Zach squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay,” he says, and when he opens his eyes, Willy’s looking at him, eyes soft.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” Zach says, and shoves his hands in his pockets, takes a couple steps back. It feels like he just got asked out, which is really genuinely stupid, because he didn’t, because it’s Willy, and that’s not his thing, and even if it was, Zach is Over It. “Bye.”

“Bye, Zach,” Willy says, and his smile isn’t his on-camera smile, nothing close.

It’s better.

\---

Zach can’t remember the last time he’s laughed this hard.  

That’s a pretty lame thing, maybe, so he doesn’t say it, but he comes close, because he doesn’t think he’s stopped grinning since he walked into the bakery and Willy greeted him with a sly, “Where’s your hairnet, dude?”  

Zach rolled his eyes, taking in Willy in all his polka dot aproned glory. “It’s like that?”

“Yeah, it’s like that,” Willy said, and bumped his hip up against Zach’s before handing him an egg and telling him to get cracking, which was a terrible enough pun that Zach had to laugh, and he hasn’t really stopped since, even after the cameras left, probably with more footage than they’re ever going to use.

It’s just. _Fun_ , the way he forgot food could be, and it keeps being that when they’re pouring batter into pans, and when Willy stains his fingers blue with food colouring, and even when Zach turns around and Willy tosses a handful of flour at his face, cackling like a supervillain.

It’s flirting, is the first thing that Zach realizes, and the second thing is that he doesn’t want Willy to stop.

And, like, thank you, he’s aware that the cutesy food fight thing is the biggest cliché in the world, but damn it if it doesn’t work, because Zach flicks icing sugar into Willy’s face for revenge, watches it settle in his hair and eyelashes, and has to stop himself from reaching up to brush it off.

Willy does no such thing, gets real close into Zach’s space and smudges flour of Zach’s nose, gentle.  

“You look like a dork,” he says, teasing, and Zach forgets how to breathe, because Willy’s right there, and he’s looking at Zach like he’s going to do something really dumb, and, for a second, Zach wants him to.

Zach steps back, looking anywhere but at Willy. “We should clean up,” he says. “Place is a mess.”

Willy doesn’t move, just looks at Zach, kind of wistful.

“You keep doing that,” Willy says, and it’s not accusatory. It’s not anything, fully. Maybe a little sad.

Zach can’t bring himself to play dumb, just shrugs, small and jerky. “Can you blame me?”

Willy exhales, and it’s kind of a laugh, but it also kind of sounds like he got punched. It’s too big, all of a sudden, the elephant in the room that they’ve been ignoring, or- that Willy’s been ignoring, because Zach doesn’t think he knows how to, doesn’t think he knows how to get past everything that happened.

Willy’s hard to hate. Hard not to hate, a little, too.

“D’you remember,” Willy says, once the silence gets too big, “that stupid seminar, where they asked us where we saw ourselves in five years?” It takes Zach a second, kind of caught off guard, but he nods – it was one of those mandatory careers things they had to attend before graduating. Nothing memorable.  

Willy’s still looking at Zach, and he goes on, “You knew, like, everything. Literally, spreadsheets planned down to the month.”

“It was a hypothetical,” Zach says, a little defensive, because – so what, he’s organized, it’s why he’s good at what he does.

“Sure,” Willy agrees, easy enough. “But it’s also fucking scary, to watch you be that sure about stuff, if you’re me.”

Zach kind of waits, expecting- he doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Something. It doesn’t come. “Sorry,” Zach says, and there’s this thing in his stomach, angry and hurt and ugly. “But, just to clarify, your big redemption-seeking forgive-me speech is that you hit it and quit it because you were scared of my spreadsheets?”  

“I don’t know if you’re cool enough to say ‘hit it and quit it’,” Willy says, then, when Zach scoffs, incredulous, he has the grace to look abashed. “That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“Still said it, though,” Zach says, and Willy looks flustered for the first time, and it’s more satisfying than it should be to see. “What are you even trying to-”

“I don’t know, man.” Willy says, running a hand through his hair, a little helpless. “I don’t know. You’re really sarcastic, and you’re such a nerd, but like, a really hot nerd, and it’s just confusing-” 

“Do you ever think things, before you say them?” Zach asks, disbelieving, torn between flattered and offended. “Is that even a concept that you’re aware of?”

“No,” Willy says. “I mean, yes, I- D’you want to make out?”

Zach _hates_ him. “Do I- how can you even- You’re ridiculous.” Zach stammers, but Willy’s so close, and he’s got these little strands of hair falling in his face that are definitely out of place on purpose, and he’s looking at Zach from under his eyelashes, hopeful enough to tug at something in Zach’s gut.

“Completely ridiculous,” Zach says, faint, and yanks Willy in by the front of his apron and kisses him.

There’s no surprise, no moment of hesitation – Willy kisses back right away, making this breathy sound in the back of his throat and surging up to meet Zach head on.

It’s different than before – they’re almost the same height now, and they’re not in shitty dorms waiting for Zach’s roommate to walk in on them – but it’s like a shock to Zach’s system, having this again, because it’s not the kind of thing he thought he could forget but it’s also so much more than he remembered. Willy still kisses like it’s his job, like something _obscene_ , tugging at Zach’s bottom lip, teasing into his mouth, and it’s overwhelming, his mouth sweet with sugar, Zach’s hands up in his hair, soft and just the right side of too long.

They stumble back ‘til Willy’s pressed against the counter, has to catch himself with one hand so they don’t fall back. One of his legs ends up pressed between Zach’s, and his hands are lingering at Zach’s waist, and Zach’s breath hitches in his throat, and he breaks off, abrupt, shaking his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears.

“Stop,” he says, breathing heavy. “Stop, you can’t just do that.”

Willy’s got one hand on his mouth, still leaning on the counter, hair sticking up in a way that probably breaks at least a couple laws of physics. “You kissed me.”

Zach’s cheeks are burning. “Yeah, because- your _face_ -”  

“Sorry about that,” Willy says, deadpan, and it’s the same voice he does when he’s making a joke to the camera, and Zach’s got this pit in his stomach, the same exact feeling as when he got to class that one morning and Willy was standing there joking around with his friends, didn’t even meet Zach’s eyes.   

Zach can’t look at him.

“This was a bad idea,” Zach says, this awful, sinking feeling. “I-”

“Hymie,” Willy says, and he reaches out to Zach but Zach takes a step back, fast enough that he almost trips.

“I have to go,” Zach says. “I’ve got- the bachelor party is in a couple of hours. I need to leave.” He takes another step back, dazed, but this time Willy grabs his arm, kind of desperate, if desperate was a thing that William Nylander knew how to be.   

“Wait, Zach- can we get dinner, talk-”

And it’s him saying that, _Zach_ , serious like Zach’s never seen him, that finally does it. “You want to _talk_?” Zach asks, incredulous, and laughs, this hard thing. “That’s new.”

Willy reels like he got hit. “I said sorry.”

Zach laughs, kind of stunned, because he just- he doesn’t _get_ it. “No, you actually didn’t.”

“I’m trying to do this right,” Willy says, all sincere, and if Zach looks at him he’ll do something stupid like kiss him again – and he wants to, he wants to kiss him again so, _so_ bad – so instead he turns tail and leaves.

\---

There’s traffic on the way home, then traffic on the way to the bar, so Zach is frazzled and late and keeps finding specks of flour on his dress shirt by the time he finally makes his way inside and follows the noise to find Auston and the rest of his half of the wedding party.

He doesn’t feel like partying. Everything feels like too much, what happened with Willy, and the fact that he’s got to coordinate a wedding’s worth of food, tomorrow, and that he forgot to call someone in to look at the convection oven, and it’s just-

It’s the last thing he needed, today.

Auston’s already three sheets to the wind when Zach finds him hanging out by the bar and showing the bartender Mitch’s last season highlights on his phone. 

“....and this is when he scored the OT winner against the Flyers, it was _incredible_ \- Zachy!” Auston perks right up when he sees Zach, holding up his hand for a high five. “You missed the strippers, man.”

“Bummer,” Zach says and he tries for a smile, but Auston’s already talking again, too hammered to notice the apology, but also to give Zach shit for the hickey on his neck, so it’s probably for the best. “Sorry I’m la-”

“Mitch is hotter than all the strippers,” Auston says, very serious. “He’s _ten strippers_. Should I put that in my vows?”

“No,” Zach says, firm, because Nylander-related crises aside, he’s still the voice of reason in this friendship. “Probably not, in front of all your friends and coworkers.”

“You’re prob’ly right,” Auston says, then sighs and leans on Zach’s shoulder, distraught. “I love him so much, though. Like. _So_ much.”

“I’m really happy for you, buddy,” Zach says , and means it, because drunk Auston is either trying to make crème brulée or being a really affectionate giant, and right now it’s the latter, and it’s nice to see him relax a little. Zach can’t relate, but- still. Nice.

“Me too,” Auston says, “I hope he’s having fun.” Then he sighs again, even bigger. “His _abs_ , Zachy-”

“Okay,” Zach cuts him off. “I’m too sober for this conversation.” 

“You’re right,” Auston says, and flings one arm around Zach’s shoulders, uses the other to wave over to the bartender, even though he’s still standing, like, directly across the bar. “My sad single friend needs to get drunk, please.”

Zach shakes his head, starting to pull away. “I have a lot to do tomorrow, Auston, the catering stuff-”  

“Shh,” Auston says, yanking Zach back into his seat. “You’re my best man and I’m almost married, we’re having fun while you pine over the guy you’ve liked since college.”

“I haven’t-” Zach starts, only then there’s a row of shots in front of him, and everything kind of hits him all at once, Willy’s mouth on his, how he tasted like icing sugar, the way he looked at Zach like they were nineteen again and the time in between shrunk down into nothing, and Zach can’t deal with that, now. Ever, probably, because Willy’s a bad idea, he knows that, he learned that the hard way, or he _thought_ he did, and it’s just incredibly unfair, really, because Zach would bet anything that Willy’s not angsting over him right now, he’s got better things to do, but Zach’s stuck here, like this, and he’s supposed to be over him-

And there’s a row of shots in front of him, and they seem a lot easier than lying to himself, right now, so Zach thinks _fuck it_ and tosses one back.

\---

Full disclosure: Zach tosses multiple ones back. A whole lot of ones, probably.

He doesn’t realize quite how many until the next morning, when he wakes up facefirst on the couch with a splitting headache and _Eye of the Tiger_ playing from somewhere near his feet, which would be fine, really, except for that _Eye of the Tiger_ is his emergency third alarm, which means he slept through the first two, which means-

“Shit!” Zach yelps, hurtling to his feet and immediately regretting it in the wave of nausea that follows. He hasn’t had that much to drink since college, and it feels like it, but he fishes his phone out of the couch cushions anyways, ignores the alarm and stares down at the screen in abject horror, because it’s ten o’clock.

The wedding’s at _noon_. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” There are thirty missed calls on his phone, the latest from half an hour ago, from Andersen with the hors d’oeuvres, and, just, _crap_. They’re not going to be at the venue, or they’re going to get there and have no one to tell them where to go, and _bake_ magazine is going to publish a snarky article about how disorganized the wedding was and ruin Auston and Zach’s careers and it’ll be all Zach’s fault.

He’s never, ever done anything this irresponsible in his _life_. Stupid Nylander, being a bad influence without even being there.

Zach gets ready in record time, barely avoids concussing himself when he’s hopping around on one leg, trying to get into his dress pants and brush his teeth at the same time; probably breaks at least a couple traffic laws driving out to wine country. Makes it twenty minutes before the ceremony’s due to start, anyways. 

He can see the guests filing in, skids right past them and through the staff entrance at the side of the building, braced for the utter chaos of four separate chefs trying to use limited prep space and waiters figure out where they’re going, except-

Except he gets inside, and things aren’t chaotic. Or- they’re a little chaotic, but normal, kitchen chaotic, the good kind. 

He can hear the clattering of pots and pans from in the kitchen, people talking, and there’s even music playing, something upbeat and cheery. There’s this smell floating out, something Zach can’t pinpoint that’s probably Estonian-Lebanese fusion and definitely delicious and he just stands there, stunned, because no one’s panicking. No one’s even close.

There’s a click of a camera from behind Zach, and he turns around, and his mouth drops open. 

There’s a photographer crouched down, shooting pictures from every angle of, just, the most gorgeous cake Zach’s ever seen. It’s simple, not too tall, with this cascade of tiny, delicate flowers and vines down the side. They’re shimmery, almost translucent pulled sugar, and there are even a couple of maple leaves in there. Zach’s heart does something complicated at those little leaves, because the work that went into this cake would be obvious even if he hadn’t gone to culinary school, but he did, and it’s-

It’s perfect.

Zach kind of wants to cry, just looking at it. Maybe would, except he hears voices from down the hall, so he forces himself to leave the cake and walk towards them, kind of wary.

The whole thing is just- it’s surreal, a little, and it doesn’t get any less surreal when Zach sees Willy standing there, talking to one of the owners of the place and nodding, all knowledgeable. He’s got his sleeves rolled up by his elbows, a pen balanced behind his ear, and he’s holding a clipboard, looks down at it and checks something off before directing the owner towards the kitchen with a smile. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, all, like. Competent. Together.

Zach has never been more attracted to anyone in his _life_.

“Willy,” he says, once the owner leaves. He doesn’t know what he’s planning to say, and from the looks of it, neither does Willy, because he just stands there and watches Zach get close.

“Hi,” Willy says, guarded.

“Hi,” Zach echoes, then looks around, shaking his head a little. “You did this?”  

Willy looks at him, kind of wry. “I do own a really successful business. I’ve catered stuff before.” It’s almost admonishing. Not quite.

“I know,” Zach says, and then nothing else, because he _did_ know that, is the thing, but he just assumed it was the assistants or the directors or someone handling shit, because responsibility and William Nylander don’t go in the same sentence.

“I didn’t mean to get involved with your stuff,” Willy says, mistaking Zach’s silence for annoyance. “Just- I got here to set up the cake and no one was telling people what to do and you weren’t answering your phone. But you’re here now, so.” He holds out the clipboard, and Zach takes it, wordless. “Rielly is setting up the mini pies at the dessert table. Everything else is being prepped in the kitchen. The cake is- yeah.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Zach says, honest, and Willy looks at him like he thinks he’s fucking with him. “I mean that, it’s incredible.”

Willy looks mollified, a little, but he doesn’t gloat or joke back like Zach expects. “Yeah, well,” he shrugs, won’t meet Zach’s eyes. “Tell Mitch my Leafs tickets better be good ones.” It’s not as convincing as it was the last time he said it, and it hits Zach like a bag of rocks, how much of an excuse it is. No one makes a cake like the one he just saw without caring about stuff.

Zach hates being wrong about things, hates being wrong about people more, but he knows when he is.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking Willy in the eye and holding his gaze. “I didn’t give you enough credit. You’re really good at what you do.”

“Thank you,” Willy says, simple, and it’s already the closest thing to a mature adult conversation they’ve ever had, but he’s not done. “I’m sorry too, for being a dick back then. I got scared, and I bailed, and it was shitty of me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zach says, shaking his head. “Like- I promise I’m over it.”

“Okay,” Willy says. “But I’m not, I don’t think.” 

 Zach stares at Willy and then has to do a double take, because Willy’s blushing.

Willy’s _nervous_.

He swallows, looking at Zach as honest as he ever has. “I just- I know you think I don’t take stuff serious enough, and that’s true, probably, but I’m also- I’m not twenty anymore, Hymie.”  

“I know you’re not,” Zach says, faint, and can’t even bring himself to correct the Hymie thing. They’re just looking at each other, this huge thing that Zach doesn’t know what to do with.

Willy shoves his hands in his pockets, says, “I had fun hanging out with you.”

Zach remembers how to talk, after a second. “Me too.”

“Also making out,” Willy says, and it hangs there, expectant.

“Yeah,” Zach says. “I- me too.” 

Willy waits. Zach does, too. It’s a standoff, neither willing to speak, and he doesn’t even know if he wants Willy to, because this isn’t the kind of thing he knows how to deal with.

Willy drops his gaze. “Okay,” he says, and there’s something like resignation in his voice. “I’ll- you should go do your best man thing. I’ll get someone to put the cake in the fridge.”  

Zach nods, too fast, and there’s this second of waiting – _say something_ , he thinks – and then Willy kind of exhales, turns around and starts walking away and leaves Zach standing there holding a clipboard like it’s a life preserver.

He can’t _think_. This is the moment when he’s supposed to do the big gesture, sack up and come up with some smooth, James Bond one-liner, except he still feels like the awkward kid with a bad haircut and Willy’s still so out of his league it’s not even funny, and this kind of thing doesn’t happen to him, ever; and there’re a million reasons why it still shouldn’t, a hundred spreadsheets worth, only he looks at Willy walking away and it’s like- not again.

“I, uh. I need a date.” Zach blurts, loud, clinging to his clipboard so hard it feels like it’s going to snap in two. Willy stops in his tracks, turns around real slow. “To this wedding, today. If you know anyone who would be interested.”

Willy doesn’t come closer, but he also doesn’t walk away. Just stands where he is, looks at Zach kind of wary. The tiniest hint of a smile, like he’s unsure. “I might know a guy.”

Zach’s heart is pounding in his ears. “I hear the food’s going to be good,” he offers, “so there’s that, at least.” He winces. “Sorry, that was- I don’t know how to flirt.”

Willy’s grinning from ear to ear almost before Zach’s done talking, this huge, shit-eating thing that shouldn’t make his stomach flip and does anyways. “You’re flirting with me?”

“I regret it already.”

Willy shakes his head, laughing. “No way, no takebacks, you _flirted_. Zach Hyman, hot nerd extraordinaire, flirted with William Nylander-”

“Okay,” Zach says, and shoves the clipboard at Willy’s chest, not quite managing to hide a smile. “The wedding is starting in, like, a minute and I need to make sure someone gets both of them crying on camera, so you can make fun of me later, we’re tabling this.”

“Spoilsport,” Willy pouts, and Zach’s turning to walk inside, because this has been all together more emotion than he was planning on, today, except before he can, Willy’s saying, “Wait, wait, let me just-” and he tosses the clipboard over his shoulder, closes the gap between them and then he’s got a hand on either side of Zach’s face and he’s tugging him in and kissing him, gentle.

It’s better than before. Better than all the ones before, new and familiar and, just, a really good kiss, the kind that Zach could melt into and maybe does, a little, getting his hands on Willy’s waist and tugging him closer and deepening the kiss, leaning into it.

It feels promising. Hopeful. Cheesy stuff like that, and Zach’s lost in it, a little, so that it’s Will who has to pull back, kind of out of breath.

He brushes his nose against Zach’s, and it takes him a second to say, low, “Tabling this?”

Zach swallows, hard, but nods. “Tabling it,” he agrees, and straightens Willy’s tie, just for something to do with his hands. It’s a nice tie. Possibly just because it’s on Willy.

“Wait.” Willy looks thoughtful. “Is ‘tabling it’ a catering joke?” 

It takes Zach a second.

“William,” he says, exasperated, but also really fond, and this time he doesn’t bother trying to hide it; this time, when Willy smiles at him, he lets himself smile back; doesn’t even really complain when Willy takes his hand on their way into the chapel.

 _Tabling it_ , Zach reminds himself. Just for now, so he can watch his best friend get married, and then he’s got to make sure the most last-minute catering job in history gets pulled off, and then-

They’ll figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> \- the wedding is adorable and everyone cries it’s incredibly embarrassing.  
> \- zach accidentally becomes a fan favourite regular guest star on willy’s show. no one ever lets him forget the fact that willy literally won him over by being organized.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [lotts (LottieAnna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts) Log in to view. 




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